


The Serpent Always Has The Best Lines, RPF, Zach/OMC, NC-17

by blcwriter



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-10
Updated: 2009-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:52:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blcwriter/pseuds/blcwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Written for Poor Man's Sinfest, <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/spellsunbind/9143.html?thread=114103#t114103">here</a>, for <a href="http://smutjunkie.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://smutjunkie.livejournal.com/"><b>smutjunkie</b></a> 's prompt: "Zach/OMC, his Catholic school boy years. Can be another student or a priest.  <i>Sweet blasphemy, my giving tree/ It hasn't rained in years/ I bring to you this sacrificial offering of virgin years/ Leave it to me, I remain free from all the comforts of home/ And where that is, I'm pleased as piss to say, I'll never really know</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Serpent Always Has The Best Lines, RPF, Zach/OMC, NC-17

_**The Serpent Always Has The Best Lines, RPF, Zach/OMC, NC-17**_  
Title:  The Serpent Always Has The Best Lines, RPF, Zach/OMC, NC-17  
Author: blcwriter  
Rating:  NC-17, m-m sex, sacreligious like you wouldn't believe  
Summary:  Written for Poor Man's Sinfest, [here](http://community.livejournal.com/spellsunbind/9143.html?thread=114103#t114103), for [](http://smutjunkie.livejournal.com/profile)[**smutjunkie**](http://smutjunkie.livejournal.com/) 's prompt: "Zach/OMC, his Catholic school boy years. Can be another student or a priest.  _Sweet blasphemy, my giving tree/ It hasn't rained in years/ I bring to you this sacrificial offering of virgin years/ Leave it to me, I remain free from all the comforts of home/ And where that is, I'm pleased as piss to say, I'll never really know_."  
  
When he's older, his smile will curve secretively before he says something so filthy and enticing that his partners forget that he never answers when they ask why this is his favorite position for sex. Instead, they'll pull up and rut hard, pants barely pushed down and fabric abrading the back of Zach's thighs and he leans over the hard wood of his polished oak footboard, hands digging hard into the blood red velvet coverlet while too much incense burns, the air blue and smoky. They won't ask, won't wonder why he curses and pleads, "Oh, Jesus please," exclamations of "God" and "Holy Christ," and "sweet mother of mercy" in between the more usual "fuck" and "harder" and "now" and the occasional please-- he's a good Catholic, he knows how to beg-- they'll just take what's offered, and Zach is ecstatic to take it, the friction burn from the velvet under the heels of his hands a red pleasure days later when his ass isn't sore and he's forgotten their names because he's ready to move on to the next one.

Right now, though, when he's younger, when he's tossing his too-long bangs away from his forehead again because he knows that poor Father Ryan-- so blond and movie-star handsome and young-- poor Father Ryan swallows hard and crosses his legs every time Zach tosses or plays with his hair. The man had no idea what he was getting himself into when he told the school principal he'd be glad to coach this fall's dramatic production, no idea how doomed he was when he cast fourteen-year old Zachary Quinto as the lead in the play-- but Zach knew.

"Father," he says, modulating his tone so it's silky and fluid, just like Nathan Detroit's voice has to be-- "I think I need some help with my lines. I just can't seem to remember them. And I'm worried about some of the songs. I'm not sure my vocal range is quite up to it."

And that's how it starts-- and poor Father Ryan, he tries so very hard to not give in to temptation, but Zach's been practicing the effect of batting dark lashes around what his friend Rosemary calls his "fuck me now milk chocolate eyes," right before the two of them laugh and plot who Zach's going to choose to take his virginity among the school's many, many handsome young priests. Zach chooses Father Ryan and it's surprisingly easy, four "extra" rehearsals and Zach bringing some of his mother's never-ending fresh baked goods along as a thank you, and Zach sitting closer and closer next to the priest at the piano in the side chapel where the besieged young priest says they should meet, because some part of him's got to be aware that Zach's not just seductive on stage, even as he tries to adhere to his vows. Not that their being in public saves either of them.

It ends, these extra coaching sessions, predictably enough, though Zach discovers that even innocent priests have a freaky side. He always fucks Zach from behind-- over a pew, hands braced on the cushions more innocent parishioners use for just sitting upon-- or Zach's chest borne painfully into the top of a prie dieu as the poor father's Cassock shields Zach's bare ass from view, the black scratchy wool hiding the communion of cock and ass from everybody but God. They always do this in the side chapel or the confessional booth or one thrilling Thursday night-- after the senior priests and the Monsignor have left the Cathedral in Father Ryan's care for the weekend while they all went off to a diocesan conference-- over the main altar, the holy wine in its decanter falling and spilling as Zach's cries of "more, harder, faster" echo weirdly off the rose window above. He licks the wine off the white velvet after he comes onto the Byzantine-style mosaic on the floor underneath them-- the sweet grape juice flavor and the harsh rasp of fabric under his tongue coupled with the satin-lined wool brushing his thighs and the omnipresent blue haze of incense take up the rest of the senses that aren't full of Ryan's cock and cum in his ass. The only nominally older man's gasping wheeze in his ear is deafening as his beneficent hands brace on either side of Zach's chest. It's better than being drunk, this attention-- it fills his blood and he's flushed with the guilt and the love and the way the priest looks at him for days before he needs it again.

They always pray for forgiveness right after, the priest's shrinking hardness still inside Zach's body, Hail Marys rasped out in voices roughened by their earlier, obscene incantations, the "fuck" and "more" and "harder" and "always" and "please" of their personal worship subsumed now in faulty obeisance to a standard neither one of them has any intention of meeting-- not each time Zach shows up asking for more help with his lines.

He gets the starring male role in every play all through high school, and no wonder. He doesn't need coaching-- he's a natural actor, and was lead choir boy for years before Father Ryan ever fell into his honey trap-- but neither one of them ever discuss it, not after Zach climbs into the priest's lap that first time and licks the crumbs of his mother's apple tart from the damned blonde man's lips, then sits back and says with that secretive smile-- "The serpent always has the best lines."

Poor Father Ryan doesn't even ask why-- it's a given, it's why the Church is there in the first place-- two thousand years of trying not to give into temptation. He knows, like Zach does, that if the Church had won the battle already, they wouldn't be there-- and Zach knows, as the young priest learns, that the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it, and then ask for forgiveness.

They ask for a lot of forgiveness.


End file.
